


The Exaltation of Flowers

by PatternsInThread



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Soft Triss, Soft Yennefer, seriously yall this is so fucking soft, your honor they’re queer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27919465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatternsInThread/pseuds/PatternsInThread
Summary: Yennefer leaned down to kiss her once again, then she pulled back, Triss’s breath still warm on her lips: “Let me worship you.”Triss sucked in a breath. “Please.”“Always,” Yennefer said, cupping Triss’s head in her hand, and returned her lips to her love’s jaw, kissing her way down it, savoring the soft, brown skin of Triss’s neck and the beating pulse under her tongue.
Relationships: Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25
Collections: w_l_w





	The Exaltation of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> This is for an thanks to the Witcher Femslash Discord Server!! Would not have gotten off my ass and written this without yall. Also huge thanks to Octinary, whose betaing unquestionably made this fic better

Triss’s lips were the most wonderful thing Yennefer had ever tasted: so soft, and minty from the balm Triss used to soothe them.

She could kiss Triss for _hours_. Had, in fact, too many times to count—in the warm luxury of Yennefer’s stolen bedrooms, in the tall grasses of the meadows where they gathered herbs and wildflowers, or like now, on the velvet couch in the room off of Triss’s lab in the Temerian palace, falling into each other while the potions simmered.

They kissed anywhere they could, really. They were married, after all. Not under the law—not with the machinations of the Brotherhood. But the law wasn’t what mattered.

They’d wed over a decade before, and that long familiarity let Yennefer know what Triss liked, let her suck her wife’s lower lip between her teeth, firm but not hard enough to sting.

Triss gasped and arched into Yennefer’s touch, and it was simple for Yennefer to lean in herself, hike up her dress, and throw a leg over Triss so that she sat astride Triss’s lap. They were almost the same height, but so comfortably seated, Yennefer had half a head over her wife. She pulled back from their kiss, just an inch, to drink in Triss’s beautiful face.

“Hi,” Triss said, light and amused and lovely.

“Hi,” Yennefer breathed back.

She’d told Istredd, once, that her world was cruel. Reduced to survival. She’d loved him, however much she’d later denied it. When her world had been nothing but survival, she’d taken what little she could get, ravenous for _anything_ that wasn’t pain, and grasped onto those moments of happiness with him, both her hands clenched tight. 

With Triss, they weren’t moments. With Triss, she could be _incandescent_.

“You’re so beautiful,” Triss murmured, bringing her hand up to trace across Yennefer’s jaw.

That beauty was, of course, by design—for the both of them. From anyone else, Yennefer would have resented the compliment, or seen the desire as something to be exploited.

But she had seen in Triss’s mind, and knew Triss meant her spirit. Her personality, of all things. The gleam in her violet eyes.

Yennefer leaned down to kiss her once again, then she pulled back, Triss’s breath still warm on her lips: “Let me worship you.”

Triss sucked in a breath. “ _Please_.”

“Always,” Yennefer answered, cupping Triss’s head in her hand, and returned her lips to her love’s jaw, kissing her way down it, savoring the soft, brown skin of Triss’s neck and the beating pulse under her tongue. The touch of another, one so beloved.

“Yen,” Triss sighed, throwing her head back. Yennefer moved her hand down to the back of Triss’s neck, ran it through the lush curls on the way—the same curls that cushioned Triss’s head where it rested against the wall.

Of course, said curls were helped by the thick-woven unicorn tapestry, positioned above the couch for exactly such a need. And to keep out the castle’s draft.

“So perfect,” Yennefer said, nipping at Triss’s collar bone, then nipped her way through the constellations of freckles on her chest.

Triss’s dress was red like the darkest of wines, soft like only magic could conjure. Its neckline sat low, framing the curve of Triss’s gorgeous chest.

And even better—the fabric of the dress was _thin_. It was a concession to the summer heat, as much as a sign that Triss had _definitely_ been looking forward to this. So Yennefer showed her appreciation the best way she knew how: kissing Triss’s breast right above the lace of the hem, and rubbing her thumb across one of Triss’s peaks.

“Mmm,” Triss hummed, bringing up her hands to tangle in Yennefer’s hair. “So good to me, my love.”

“Always,” Yennefer murmured, and brought her hands down to the ties of Triss’s dress.

It wasn’t easy, unlacing it blind, but magic had its uses. Yennefer lavished adoration on Triss’s breasts, on her soft skin and her adorable freckles, and with a thought, the laces untied themselves as Yennefer’s hands stroked up her wife’s shoulders and gently, slowly, pulled down the top of her dress.

Triss shivered under Yennefer’s touch as her skin was bared to the open air, and Yennefer’s hands wandered lower, caressing the swell of her love’s breasts and the roundness of her stomach.

Triss’s hands wound tighter in her hair.

 _My ivy_ , Yennefer thought, knowing Triss would hear her. _My lily, my love, my marigold_.

“My violet,” Triss gasped back, “my love, my _wife_.”

“Always,” Yennefer whispered against the sweetness of her skin, hand tightening over the curve of her ribs. “Always,” a kiss to the underside of her breast, “ever,” to the valley of her sternum, “yours,” to the very top of her stomach.

Triss’s form was perfection under her hands—with every touch, every caress, she felt more alive than she had with lightning running through her veins. And this lightning didn’t need to be bottled, nor contained. 

Or perhaps Yennefer was the container, not a vessel for others, but for this unspeakable well of _love_.

Yennefer’s body had brought her so much pain. She had spent so long hating it, before the transformation and after. But with her wife shuddering under her hands, hands that were finally bringing something _good_ to the world, to someone she loved, the hatred wasn’t just gone, the product of long years of effort. No—the very memory of it was obliterated.

“ _Yen_ ,” Triss breathed, as Yennefer’s mouth dipped lower, lower, skating across her waist, biting into the bone of her hips, dropping lower, then back up, teasing—tempting.

“Yen, _please_.”

Yennefer hummed, anticipatory, as her mouth tugged into a smirk against the edge of Triss’s pulled down dress. “Not yet,” she said, fingers tracing where fabric met skin. “I’m not done worshipping you,” pressing another kiss to the swell of a hip. Triss’s muscles clenched, skin shivering where Yennefer’s breath ghosted across her. “Not done performing”—another kiss—“devotions.”

Triss laid her hand across the back of Yennefer’s, followed the movements as Yennefer continued tracing the hills and valleys of her form. Brought her free hand to slide down the swell of Triss’s spine, felt muscles tighten and let go under her touch.

“You don’t have to, you know.”

And that was just about the most ridiculous thing that Yennefer had ever heard. “I _want_ to.”

Triss huffed a laugh. “You always say that.”

Yennefer looked up, her gaze meeting Triss’s. Stared into her wife’s rich, umber-brown eyes, long since memorized. “And I always mean it.”

The line of Triss’s mouth wavered.

Yennefer rose up to kiss it, sweet and slow.

There was something grasping in Triss’s kiss this time. It didn’t surprise Yennefer—Aretuza had done damage to them all: the pain of shriveled hands and dead flowers and being told your own body could never, never be good enough.

At Aretuza, flowers had been sacrificed. 

But Triss? She specialized in bringing them to life. 

“You’re wonderful,” Yennefer said, making herself pull back, because she _needed_ Triss to hear, needed her to know how amazing she was, so amazing it went beyond words—but still, pressing her love at Triss’s mind, the fullness of how she meant every word, she tried. “You’re brilliant. Powerful. Strong.” Then, more quietly—not for Triss’s benefit, but for her own: “ _Soft_. Gentle. Loving. _Good_.”

Triss’s breath hitched as she leaned in, resting her forehead on Yennefer’s. “So are you, you know.”

The urge to disagree rose up in Yennefer’s throat.

“Don’t argue,” Triss said. Whether she had seen the intent in Yennefer’s mind, or simply knew her that well, Yennefer didn’t know. “You are not ruined. You are _loved_.”

Still, Yennefer wanted to argue. But she could feel the very truth of it in Triss’s mind, down to her bones.

Triss told her every time they met. But Yennefer would never, ever tire of hearing it.

“As are you,” Yennefer said, quiet. “Always.”

And as the corner of her lips tugged up on one side, “Let me show you anyway.”

And Triss let her.

By the gods, Triss let her.

**Author's Note:**

> Unicorns were indeed a common motif in medieval tapestries ;) Flower references/pet names are taken from European medieval flower symbolism. I'm only listing the meanings that Yen and Triss are referencing in the fic:
> 
> Ivy - Eternal life, fidelity (especially in marriage), femininity  
> Lily - Majesty, chivalry  
> Marigold - Passion and creativity, used as a healing herb  
> Violet - Affection, faithful watchfulness, faithfulness in love
> 
> And if you are interested in joining the **Witcher femslash server, here is a link**! Open to all genders/orientations (and definitely also trans/nonbinary headcanons)--we just like to yell about how wonderful all of the women of the Witcher are and how they should kiss. https://discord.gg/jrn8j3WVtt


End file.
